


In the Jungle (the mighty jungle)

by MisticLipazan



Category: Hermitcraft RPF
Genre: 'cause it was bouncing around in my head, Depression, Dissociation, Gen, Isolation, Panic Attacks, Starvation, i would probably cry, its basically a jungler au, what would you do if you were alone in a jungle for several months, will add tags if i continue
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-16
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:13:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25320691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MisticLipazan/pseuds/MisticLipazan
Summary: There is someone new in the jungle and the Jungler isn't sure what to do.
Relationships: No shipping - Relationship
Comments: 4
Kudos: 56





	1. A Stranger and The fear of the Dark

**Author's Note:**

> Basically Grain has assumed the Jungler as his identity, because living alone in a jungle isn't fun. As the other hermits begin to arrive Grain struggles with being social because living alone in the jungle really ruins your social life/ability.  
> I am sure that this is definitely an AU that already exist but since I'm new to this fandom I have no clue :))  
> (This chapter features: a stranger and the fear of the dark)
> 
> (edit: my goal for this is pretty intense real survival stuff, so i'm adding some general content warnings for the whole thing and have increased the rating to teen+,   
> CW: Isolation, Starvation, Depression, Dissociation, Panic Attacks  
> im not sure if i'm gonna end up doing gore/violence but if it happens in later chapters they will have warnings in the notes. this chapter is pretty soft because i was testing the waters so i don't think any of these warnings apply to it but they will for the rest of the story)

There is someone new in the forest. The Jungler can just barely see them from where he is settled in the brush. He watches with keen eyes as the figure struggles to pull their boat ashore on the densely planted bank. It’s weird to see another person, in all the time he has lived in the jungle the Jungler has never seen someone else. The only company he had was the birds, pesky, pesky birds, and the trees. He slips from his hiding spot to follow the figure as it moves inland.  
There isn’t really a way to move quietly through the jungle. It doesn’t matter how careful you are, you can step over every root, duck under every branch, slip almost silently between the jungle bushes. No matter what you do the pesky birds will see you and screech their warning calls, the Jungler knows this better than anyone. Even so, at least he isn’t as loud as the figure. They stumble and push and crash through the forest like an elephant, and the birds go wild, screeching and cawing and hooting as the figure passes. The cover noise allows the Jungler to get closer, sneaking until there is only a tree or two between them, he peeks around a trunk to get a clear look at the figure.  
It’s a man, definitely taller than him, dressed in a weird purple robe and hat that makes the Jungler feel sweaty just looking at it. The humidity had ruined the Jungler’s thick clothes long ago. He barely wears the red sweater he arrived in anymore, instead wearing clothes much more suited to the environment, usually a torn undershirt and shorts if not leather armor. And of course on occasion his pesky bird mask, its colorful feathers tricking the jungle’s parrots just long enough to grab a couple of them for dinner. The Jungler is pulled from his thoughts by a crack as the man suddenly turns to face him. He stiffens in shock, pressing himself back into the tree in the hopes that its vines will disguise him enough to go unnoticed. And it seems to have worked as the man continues to turn, doing circles and searching and muttering to himself. The Jungler takes a second to breathe before carefully peering at the man’s face. It seems nothing about the man is normal, as hanging around his neck is a fake white beard and underneath the pointy purple hat is a mane of curly white hair that might have looked real if not for a couple strands of brown peeking out from underneath.  
Just what the Jungler needed, another crazy person.

The Jungler follows the robed man for a while, though he’s careful to keep a little more distance between them. Soon the fun of sneaking and spying is over. The jungle around them has grown darker, the birds are slowly quieting, their songs replaced by the chirps of bugs and frogs as the last of the sun’s rays paint the canopies orange and red. The Jungler takes one last look at the stranger before turning and backtracking towards his den. For a second he pauses and turns back, then an owl calls in the distance and the Jungler continues on his trek to his cave.  
Something in the back of his head regrets leaving the other man alone in the dark, but there is no guarantee that any help that the Jungler could provide would be welcome. Plus he’d rather sleep alone with his regret in his den than in the darkness of the forest with the night’s beasts and a stranger.  
~  
The Jungler is sure that if his past self could see him now, he would fall over from laughter. After all, who in their right mind is afraid of the dark. After what seems like a lifetime in the jungle the Jungler knows better. To be afraid of the darkness is to be afraid of the night and to be afraid of the night is to survive.  
As the light fades from the trees the forest shows it’s real face. Packs of wild dogs bark, big cats yowl, and the cave beasts with their rotting flesh and exposed bones groan, they all roam through the dense brush under cover of night. And there is only one safe space from them, his den, a small burrow made of shoddily crafted wood and dirt and stone, barely illuminated by torches. It is small and not necessarily pretty but it is shelter.  
Piled against the far wall from the entrance is a nest made mostly of leaves and grasses, and somewhere in the mess is a red sweater, torn and stained but still largely in one piece, which is better than most of the other clothing that the Jungler had arrived with. In another corner is another pile of things; melons scavenged from the forest, a set of tools that the Jungler had managed to make out of sticks and stones, a stack of coal and charcoal for fires and torches. The rest of the room is barren, the floor made of stone and dirt, the walls largely made of the same, only a few sections made of splintery wood. The Jungler often finds himself staring at them, surely there must be a way to improve his den, but when every day is spent searching for food, gathering and purifying water, and collecting the coal needed to safely eat and drink the food and water he manages to find, well there isn’t any time left to spend on improving his living space. At least all of those activities can be done outside, so he doesn’t have to stare at the bare stone and dirt in his den for more than the time he spends sleeping there.


	2. The issues of Sleep Schedules and Names

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so I'm going to change the rating to teen+ and add some extra tags for content warning purposes. If you didn't read/I haven't updated the tags (or the edited note on the first chapter) here's the content warnings I think are the best for this story as a whole.  
> CW:Isolation, Starvation, Depression, Dissociation, Panic Attacks  
> This chapter has the additional content warnings of  
> CW: Heights, Falling, Embarrassment
> 
> Now that that's done I wanted to put some of my world-building thoughts in the open for you guys. Note that some of these ideas might not be included in the story, they are just things I'm thinking about.  
> -the world is essentially real life but with minecraft bits and pieces  
> -the end and nether dimensions exist and are widely used by the population  
> -the physics are similar to minecraft in that you can stand on leaves floating in the but different in that trees, buildings, etc. will fall if not built correctly  
> I have some other stuff but it's more directly connected to the story so I'm not going to spoil it.  
> I hope you enjoy!  
> (This chapter features: sleep schedules, meeting someone new, and the issue of names)

One of the many things the Jungler misses about his past life is the ability to sleep in. Of course he misses running water, and easy access to warm food, and talking to people, but if he ever gets out of his current predicament he’ll have all those things again. He knows he’ll never be able to sleep in again. There is something in his brain that forces him to get up with the sun and he doubts it’ll ever go away.  
He wasn’t like this when he first arrived. No, when he first arrived in the jungle he slept and slept and slept and slept. That’s one of the only things he did, and was arguably what he spent the most time on. He only stopped sleeping when he became so hungry or thirsty that doing so was impossible. Then he'd stumble into the forest and scavenge and when he wasn’t hungry or thirsty anymore he’d return to sleeping.  
And then he decided to become the Jungler, and suddenly sleeping all day was impossible. No, the Jungler woke up with the sun and collected materials. The Jungler crafted makeshift tools and hunted small animals. The Jungler scavenged for clean water and made a shelter that was good enough. So what if the Jungler failed at making his den pretty, instead he made himself a mask that would actually benefit him on his mission. And that mission was survival, because that’s what the Jungler was meant to do, that was his prime directive, he would survive until he made a mistake, and then he wouldn’t survive. It was simple. It wasn’t easy but it was simple.  
~  
When the Jungler wakes up the robed stranger is on his mind. This isn’t a huge surprise, the man’s appearance was the first interesting thing that had happened in months. And so as the Jungler rolls out of his nest and brushes the leaves and sticks from his clothes, he is focused on the stranger.  
In truth, it is unlikely the man has survived the night. Being alone in the dark in the jungle is a death sentence. Yet there is a piece of the Jungler that holds out hope. A piece that needs to know if the first person he has seen in months is really dead.  
The Jungler moves across his den, gathering his leather armor and hunting knife under the dim light of the torches. Then he crawls out of the entrance of his humble abode, and into the cool jungle morning. The sun’s first rays dissipate in a mist that hangs off the trees, making the lower canopies glow. The light hasn’t made it to the forest floor yet, and the creatures of the night have only just started to return to the holes and caves they come from. Their groans and rattles still audible over the first chirps of the morning birds.  
The Jungler stretches, his arms reaching up as far as they can, and breathes in the cool morning air. He knows he needs to make the most of the morning cool, soon the jungle will be back to its warm and humid self. He trots away from his den and a little ways into the forest, finding a familiar tree before starting to climb.  
Climbing is undoubtedly one of the most dangerous parts of living in the jungle. No matter how well you know the tree, no matter how much practice you put in, no matter if your hands aren’t particularly sweaty and you’re feeling confident, if you grab the wrong vine or put too much weight on the wrong branch you will fall and it will most likely be to your death.  
The mist clings to the Jungler’s hands, and the branches and vines prove to be just as slippery. He struggles to pull himself from branch to branch, his hands easily lose their grip on the wet bark and everytime he slips he loses just as much ground as he gains. But slowly he gains height, and soon he breaks through the layer of foliage to the upper canopy where the rays of the sun warm his skin as he waits for his breathing to even out.  
The view above the canopy always takes the Jungler’s breath away. There is a vast floor of green leaves, and above it is an expanse of clear sky, impossibly blue with soft white puffs of clouds. And of course, perched on every branch are the birds. Birds of every describable shape and color are settled around him, and they pay him no mind as if he isn’t a human but just a very big, very weird, wingless bird.  
The Jungler chuckles under his breath, and he suddenly moves to stand on the canopy. The air around him fills with feathers and the sound of flapping wings as all birds leave their perches. The mass of colorful bodies block out the sun before they all settle in the nearby trees. He grins and begins to make his way to where he last saw the stranger. 

The robed man isn’t where the Jungler left him. This probably should have been obvious but it still surprises the Jungler. It takes longer than he would like to admit to find the stranger’s trail, and as the day heats up the trek through the forest becomes a sweaty mess. Eventually the Jungler gets to a point where the trail goes off in multiple directions. He follows a couple of the splits but ends up at the same point.  
The Jungler pauses and begins to examine his surroundings more carefully. There isn’t any evidence of a fight, no rotting corpses block the trails. Nor is there any splattered blood or torn clothes on the ground, and yet the stranger seemingly disappeared.  
The Jungler stands in the middle of the crossroads, his body still, and dread slowly begins to seep into his chest. It creeps from his center across his body, leaving chills in its wake. For a second he sways, his legs shake, his head lowers. He stands there alone, the world around him goes silent, his vision grows darker. He’s alone in the forest. Alone again. Alone.  
And then the Jungler is back, he shakes out his body like a dog shaking off water, turns away from the trail behind him, and starts the walk towards the lake near his den. He needs something to eat, if he doesn’t eat he won’t survive. It’s simple. 

Swimming in the lake is the best part of any day, its cool waters wash the dirt and sweat of the morning away, leaving the Jungler rejuvenated. He dives under the surface, chasing a group of cod until his lungs are straining for air. When he rememerges, he takes a couple breaths before diving under again and continuing to chase the fish. Eventually his fingers tighten around a flailing mass of scales and his arms raise it up out of the water in one swift motion. The Jungler treads at the lake’s surface for a moment and then swims to shore. As soon as he stands at the edge of the lake he sees it. The stranger’s boat settled into the bank as if it had been there forever. He wades towards it, stepping up onto the bank next to it. The fish squirms in the Jungler’s hands as he examines the boat. It’s small, wooden, with two pitifully short rows and barely enough room for the one person needed to use them.  
The Jungler is about to turn back towards his den when his eyes catch on the figure. Less than 100 yards in front of him, kneeling in the mud of the bank is the purple robed stranger from the day before. All the air in the Jungler’s body leaves him as he takes a step back. The fish takes the opportunity and successfully escapes the Jungler’s loosened fingers, flopping out of his hands and into the boat with a resounding thunk.  
Within a second the robed man is standing, facing him, the Jungler takes another step back, fingers reaching for where his knife normally rests at his hip. They come up empty, and the Jungler is left facing the stranger unarmed.  
“Oh, you must be my neighbor!”

The Jungler blinks. The man in front of him has a ridiculous grin on his face, almost more ridiculous than the fake white beard hanging around his neck. The words spiral in his brain as it tries to decode the first sentence he’s heard in months. Neighbor?  
“My name’s Scar,” the man is walking towards him now, hand outstretched “I hope you don’t mind me building here, I know I probably should’ve asked what land you were using first but this is just the perfect place!”  
The words fly over the Jungler’s head, they both stand there for a second, the Jungler staring at the man, and the man staring back. After a second, Scar lowers his hand, frowns slightly, and shifts awkwardly on his feet, “Um, I actually have a gift for you, to celebrate us being neighbors,” he turns and walks inland a bit gesturing for the Jungler to follow. The Jungler’s body follows, but his brain is still catching up, he stands a few feet behind Scar as he rummages through a wooden chest.  
“This is the only one I have,” Scar says as he hands something to the Jungler “It’s a magical crystal, it should help you with any issues you have, as long as you get a good night's rest and eat healthy.” The man is smiling again, his hat hanging off the side of his head and the white wig sliding off with it.  
The Jungler nods and manages to force a croaked “Thanks,” out of his mouth, before turning tail and speed walking towards home. Just as he’s reached the edge of the forest he hears the man shout behind him “Wait! I didn’t get your name!”

The crystal is light green glass, it fits easily in the Jungler’s hands. The glass’s edges and slopes make it easy to fiddle with as the Jungle sits against the wall of his den. His entire brain aches. Parts of the short conversation with his “neighbor” keep repeating over and over again.  
The entire event was embarrassing. He didn’t manage to say more than one word to the other man during the entire conversation. He hadn’t said a word in months and even if his brain wasn’t already overwhelmed by the man speaking to him, he probably wouldn’t have been able to force his lips to move.  
Then came the other problem, he had been unarmed. If Scar wasn’t as friendly and happy to meet him, well a knife might’ve been helpful. Luckily Scar was friendly, but if the Jungler had had his knife at least then he might have had his armor on, or his ratty shirt and a pair of shorts. No, the Jungler had met his neighbor in his boxers, fresh from a swim in the lake. He had met his new neighbor essentially naked. And the worst part? The absolutely stupidest, and most annoying piece of it all? He had forgotten his damned fish.  
~  
The Jungler had a name once, he knows he did. He can hear people calling him it in his dreams, soft voices whispering it, fearful ones screaming it. It’s there somewhere, but he can’t say what it is. It rests in the back of his head, on the tip of his tongue. It's lost in the pages of a journal he hasn’t written in since he became him. He knows it's there, in the little red leather bound book under his worn red sweater. And yet when he thinks he should write in it, when he craves the words on it’s pages, something stops him. The journal isn’t really the Jungler’s. It belongs to the person he was before. The person whose name he can’t remember.  
That night as he lays in his nest, body pressed into the wool of his sweater he can feel the journal underneath. His fingers brush over the cover, they press into the letters imprinted in it. And slowly they form a name in his head. GRIAN.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> If you liked it or would just like to give me feedback or ideas leave me a comment :) 
> 
> In other news I am seriously doubting my ability to write this story. I feel like I would've probably been better off waiting a couple weeks to actually get to know the hermits and their personalities before trying to write a story about them.. This of course doesn't excuse my lack of ability to write in character, I can only ask for your forgiveness and keep working on it.  
> As for updates on this story? I'll probably do them once a week. I feel really good about the length of this chapter and that's largely due to the fact that I wasn't rushing to write while the idea was just forming like I did with the first chapter. 
> 
> I hope you have a good day :))  
> (Next chapter features: Good Times With Scar tm :))

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure if I'll continue this but I do have a vague sense of where the plot will go if I do.  
> If the story were to continue I would explore some of Grain's interactions and first meetings with the hermits.  
> (Next chapter features: meeting the robed man, and and the question of a name) (probably,, idk) (if I continue...)  
> Please comment if you have any feedback, ideas, or would just like this work to continue. 
> 
> (oh, also i'm super sorry that this chapter is super ooc for Grain, part of my plan for the story is to slowly develop Grain's character so that he is less the like the Jungler and more like himself....)


End file.
